


Please Don't Let Me Waste Away

by capirony



Series: Wasting Away [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 22:21:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5643955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capirony/pseuds/capirony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is broken and Peter has somehow been caught up in fixing that up. (AU where instead of everything happening over the course of a day or two, it happens over weeks.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Please Don't Let Me Waste Away

**Author's Note:**

> lame title but what else is new (also AU where Peter and Gwen are bffs just in case u wanna know why i dont even mention her in this. its just a drabble so;;;;)
> 
> watched amazing spiderman 2 the other night and ive slightly fallen for harry osborn. im not worried.
> 
> also no beta and i hardly spent any time on there so there's definitely mistakes. so im sorry for that pls enjoy what is salvageable

He calls you and its four in the morning and you can't say no to the shaken sobs and the half-cries of your name, broken on his lips. You can imagine him curled up on himself, on the floor or on his couch; you know he's been drinking and you swear you can smell it even though he's halfway across the city and you've just woken up from the sleep you had accidentally fallen into. He's not begging you, he's just crying for you, probably in a drunken stupor, probably lost in his own mind. And this isn't the first time this has happened, either. Ever since getting back to New York, ever since Norman had died, this had been an often occurrence and even now you were still in the dark about why he cried, why he cried for you.

You get to him the fastest way you know how, careful to pull on your mask so no one sees your face, even by accident, as you swing and glide your way to the Oscorp Tower. You're careful, stopping before you could be caught by cameras and you remove the mask, sauntering up to the intimidating building, brightly lit even at this time of the day. Your legs feel like iron and you're pretty sure you're lacking the bounce you usually tend to have and you know why and yet you ponder on it, gazing up at the burning letters of your best friends burden.

You don't have to buzz, you don't need a key. The security lets you in without a word because they know the drill and you hope they don't know any more than that you show up sometimes and somehow everything is better when you leave. You hope they don't know the Harry you know; you don't want anyone taking advantage of that side of him.

You make your way up like you've walked the route a million times and lets face it; one time would have been enough for you to remember the way. Security doesn't stop you all the way up either, and the elevator doesn't ask for the floor number; just sends you up to the floor you need to be on.

The top floor is quiet and dark; it's a stunning contrast to the brightly lit building inside and out. Behind you the city hums quietly, never asleep they say, but in front of you there's hallways and doors and they're all closed and uninviting. Asleep, but not really.

With light footsteps, you make your way to the only room that really matters, and usually there'd be light leaking out from holes and cracks you wouldn't see in the daytime, but tonight there's nothing and you suddenly feel uneasy, the feeling settling deep in your center and nipping at your throat. Inside, the room is pitch, but the wide open curtains and the wide open windows bring in the light from the city and it doesn't feel so devious in here. It just feels sad.

"Harry," you breathe, the breathlessness catching even yourself off-guard as you pad across the room, the disarray and chaos merely a backdrop to you by now. It wasn't who Harry was, this mess, it was who Harry was afraid of becoming. "Harry."

He's curled up on the floor in front of the couch, an empty bottle of expensive alcohol held loosely in his fingers. By the look of it, some of the bronze liquid must have spilled on the floor around him as his hair seemed sticky and wet. He was facing the window, eyes staring listlessly out the window and into the stars. On the couch behind him, his cell phone glints with light as you circle your way closer to him, it suddenly becoming apparent that he had slid off the couch after you had told him you were coming. There was a thin blanket tangled in his legs and around his waist, still half stuck to the couch.

"Hey there," you murmur, your hand coming to rest on the curve of his hip as you squat down at his side, "whatcha doin' down there?"

A smile tugs at the corners of the young billionaires lips, but it doesn't stay for long. His crystal blues snap to you and then back to the stars in an instant. You squeeze his hip slightly and he tucks his head into his arm, the bottle of whiskey rattling against the sticky hardwood floor. 

"Let's get you up, yeah? Way more comfy on the couch, I bet," you try to offer. He makes no move nor indication that he had even heard you speak. You don't sigh, but you do look away, around, to anything that may give you a clue as to what was happening to your best friend. 

"'M sorry," he murmurs, muffled against the skin of his arm. You can see the tear stains on his face and you want to wipe them away, to tell him he'll be alright. But you resist the urge because you need him to know you're there, fully, before either of you will do anything.

"Nothing to be sorry about," you reply with a shrug and a small grin in an attempt to make him hear you, "You're cold, let's get you up, yeah?"

You move to move him then, your hand already on him moving to spin him while your other moves to help. It's then that he jumps up, sitting up in front of you, all hunched shoulders and wary eyes. His lips are red and swollen and the smudges of purple and black under his eyes makes you ache. He looks absolutely pitiful, broken and afraid.  
His eyes are like bullets you can't dodge and he's glaring at you, "Peter,"

"It's me Harry, it's me," you swings your hands up, trying your best to let him know you aren't a threat, that you're here to help, "It's just me, I've got you."

That seems to do it because he slumps slightly, his eyes wavering and falling, looking away at anything other than you, "Yeah," he says, a little loudly, a little cocky. It's close to his regular voice, yet you can tell the difference too easily, "yeah, you got me alright."

"Harry," you begin, your hand searching for his hand. "Come on," You take his hand, the fist that's coiled tight against the floor and you're only half surprised by how cold it is. Like holding a snowball, like a block of ice. Your other hand wraps around his waist, pushing a thin knee out of the way to reach it. Harry is compliant, letting you hold him, letting you pull him to his feet even as he wobbles slightly in front of you, eyes never meeting yours the whole way. The bottle clunks to the floor, unnoticed by either of you as you stand in the middle of the too empty suite, the moonlight drifting in and illuminating Harry in a way you can only describe as heartbreaking.

With one hand on his and the other wrapped snug around his thin waist, you tug him towards the couch but this time he doesn't follow. "Harry?" You ask, your voice soft. He wobbles in his spot for a moment before looking up at you slightly through his wet bangs. His eyes aren't piercing anymore, well, you think, they still are but not in the way that makes you want to disappear or to challenge him. He's analyzing you, hes watching you. 

This time, he tugs on you, his free hand holding onto your elbow with surprising grip for someone in his state. He was strong, you realize, always has been, but he's just lost.  
You look back to his face and he's still staring at you, head tipped back slightly so he can look down at your rather than up. He's pulling you to the window, feet missing all the obstacles on the floor with surprising accuracy, you own following suite. He walks you until you feel him knock against the large metal bar that encases the extravagant window behind you. The city becomes more apparent at this angle and you have to wonder why there's bars on the window anyway, why would someone cage themselves in like this.

Harry has said nothing, but he still stares even as you look around at the lives hammering on below the two of you. You step closer than you mean to but you don't backtrack and Harry doesn't push you back so you continue, stepping into his space as he takes your hands and places them on the cold bar behind him. He's situated the both of you so you're completely caging him in, holding him, pinning him to that spot, and leaving him free to stand in that cage. His head lolls to the side, eyes still watching, and you cant help it; you lean forward and plant a kiss along the line of his neck.

He doesn't react, not really, not unless you count the blood pumping suddenly faster in his veins, his heartbeat loud in your ears, making you unable to focus on anything other than the way you make him feel. His hands are on your shoulders as you kiss him all over, the spot behind his ear is wet and sticky, but it makes him shudder and his own shoulders jerk at the feeling; so you do it again. 

His hands are distracting as the climb up your neck. He's sweating and his hands are damp but they feel good against your too hot skin as they wrap around your neck, as they card through your messy head of hair.

You don't know when this started and you don't think you want it to stop.

You kiss along his jaw and up the side of his face, leaning closer and pinning him even tighter. He makes no noises, though his pulse keeps you going, the way you can feel his eyes squeeze shut, the way you know he's biting his lip, his knees knocking against the sides of your own as he only just manages to keep himself afloat. You don't realize you're murmuring his name until he laughs, a small sound that rumbles in his chest that's pressed so closely against yours. With one hand sliding around his waist to keep him standing, you drag the other up his body and cup his face, turning it so you can kiss him properly, smiling against his mouth as he comes willingly.  
"Don't laugh at me," Harry murmurs against your skin. It feels hot and electric and you love it way too much. 

"Not laughing," you say, laughing. It makes him laugh too, though, so you're sure he'll forgive you. "Never laugh at you."

"Yeah, of course," Harry smiles, kissing you as hard as he probably could in this state. At least he knows it's you here, at least he knows you care.

The two of you kiss against the window with the city down below for a while, until lingering touches happen more often than kissing. You pull back the smallest distance you can muster and you drag the hair out of his eyes. He looks at you, and his eyes feel the same; piercing, distant, wary. But there's something else there, too, something you want to call trust but don't think he's ready for yet. You hold him and you look at him, examining the state of his face and the bruises on his neck you're sure he'll flaunt later.

"I'm here for you," you whisper, the space between you two, too small to talk any louder. 

Harry's voice cracks when he answers you, just as quietly, "Yeah, I know."

Later, when you're swinging back home with the sunlight just beginning to peak over the horizon, you'll wonder if he really did know. You'll wonder if he'll remember you when he wakes up, if he'll regret it like he obviously did the first time he kissed you while he was drunk. You'll wonder if he'll ever tell you why he calls you in the middle of the night and cries for you, for your love and for your care. You'll wonder if anyone has told Harry Osborn that they love him and if you should be the first. You'll vow that you'll let him know, that next time he won't have to cry for you for you to show up.

You'll have no idea that that night would the last time, and that the night after will change your life forever.


End file.
